Let's Get Together
by TenshiNoAkuma
Summary: A collection of TWEWY drabbles. Cell Phone - Joshua has all the phone plans, but no one to call.
1. Pin Cushion

Author's Notes: Hi! This is collection of drabbles for TWEWY, so obviously spoilers from Shiki, Day 1 to post-game/secret reports/Another Day will all be in here. If you haven't finished the game yet, I suggest you don't read any of these, because the storyline of such a brilliant game really shouldn't be spoiled.

That said, my LJ has a couple of other TWEWY writings that are too short to post here, so if you're interested, my LJ in my profile.

--

Prompt: Pin Cushion

--

"I haven't seen some of those pins before. Where did you get them, Shiki?"

Shiki smiles, clutching her strap of her bag just a little tighter. Her fingers brush one of the pins, orange and red flame, the first of many pins she had given to Neku. But now Neku had no more use for them and he didn't particularly want to keep them. But it would have been such a shame for them to be thrown away. So to her they returned.

Shiki's hand curls over her mouth in a small giggle. "A friend," she replies, "A friend who helped me realise something."

And she's thankful, thankful for that chance to 'play' in the UG, thankful for all the things she's experienced, thankful for being able to meet new people -- no, that's not right. She's thankful for being able to make new _friends_. She's thankful she met someone who knew the right words; everytime she sees Eri, today, tomorrow, next week, she doesn't feel the envy gnawing at the back of her mind.

She sees the slight look of confusion on Eri's face at her words and flushes, waving her hands frantically, dismissively. "It's nothing you should worry about! Really!"

Eri gives her an unsure look, raising an eyebrow, "If you say so..." and the topic of conversation moves to general chit-chat. Shiki absentmindedly tugs again at the strap of her bag, casting a quick glance at the pins she's attached to it today. She wouldn't forget what those days in the UG taught her; she wouldn't allow herself to.

There is a pin on Mr. Mew now, right over its heart.


	2. Reset

Author's Notes: Done for the 31-days LJ community. Prompt was, His dreams lost some grandeur coming true.

--

Reset

--

It would only take one bullet.

It would only take one bullet to decide whether Shibuya lived or died, whether Shibuya would be renewed under a new Composer, or if Shibuya would disappear, unexisted from the past, present, future.

The gun is by his side, held loosely in his hand even as he counts down from ten, the numbers purposefully pronouced with exaggerated care, almost a drawl. A smile draws his mouth wide as he watches Neku struggle to raise the gun. The boy has his eyes shut, as if he can't bear to look him in the eye when he pulls the trigger. _It's not so difficult, Neku_, Joshua thinks, putting his other hand in his pocket. _All you need to do is move a few muscles in your finger and it'll be all over_.

Joshua's smile reaches his eyes when he sees Neku lower the gun, sees the tears that drip from Neku's face. Just as he predicted. He knew Neku wouldn't be able to do it; the boy had changed too much from who he had been.

But Joshua doesn't have such reservations.

His grip tightens around the gun. He'll stay his hand, he'll start this dream again. The final number slips from his lips, a single syllable swallowed by this room. He doesn't close his eyes. His hand jerks up and his finger twitches.

And the Composer resets Shibuya.


	3. Tell me who you are

Author's Note: Titleless, because I'm lazy like that.

--

He's the one who killed Neku. He's also the one who allowed her to meet Neku.

Shiki doesn't know how to approach Joshua when she doesn't know what she thinks of him. _He_ seems to know, though, and there is always that twitch at the corner of his mouth when their eyes meet.

Sometimes she forgets he's there when she's with Beat, Neku, Rhyme, or doesn't even realise his silent approach. Until she hears that laugh, childlike though he's nothing like one. She never forgets he's the Composer; she calls him Joshua by name but always regards him as the UG's Composer.

So she's mildly surprised when he helps her stuff Neku into a maid's outfit.

"Why are you here? Don't you need to take care of the UG?" Shiki asks him away from the others, Beat's loud laughter almost drowning her out. Shiki realises too late that her words sound like she wants him to leave.

"Do I?" he casually counters, unperturbed. "That seems like too much trouble, don't you think?"

Shiki frowns and steeples her fingers in front of her abdomen, unsure. "Oh yeah? You're the Composer, aren't you? You need to take care of the UG! You saw how out of hand things got..."

"Really? It seemed like everything turned out as I predicted." Before Shiki can come up with a reply, he sighs and shrugs. "The UG existed before Composers and Games. I simply returned it to that state."

"What!?"

He laughs and turns to face the rest of the group, where Neku is distinctly unimpressed by Beat's taunts while Rhyme is torn between helping Neku out and laughing. They aren't aware of the conversation passing between the two.

"You wanted to know why I'm here?" He slips a hand into his pocket and draws out his cellphone. He gives her an enigmatic smile, "To put it simply, I'm not just the UG's Composer," and saunters off to snap a photo of Neku.


	4. Defeated

Author's Note: Prompt from LJ, "JOSHUA SELFCEST + horrified onlookers".

--

Defeated

--

"Well done, Neku!" The Joshua of this room claps twice, echoing, before he slips a hand in his back pocket. "You really are like my Neku." He brings his hand to his chin as he thinks. "I did promise you something if you won, didn't I?" He runs a hand through his hair before grinning. "Come here."

Neku is apprehensive, and doesn't move. The widening grin of the...other...Joshua - he still can't believe there are _two_ of them; one Joshua is terrifying enough for him - isn't something he would trust. It was a lot like that...what was it? That animal with a grin too wide because it knew something Alice didn't.

The Joshua he _knows_ - albeit only for a few hours, though he's read his articles for far longer - sighs and raises his hands in a shrug. "Really, Neku," he says with a grin, stepping forward. "A reward is a reward. I wouldn't do anything _suspicious_, would I?"

The other!Joshua laughs. "Of course not," he returns. "You're claiming the prize for him?"

Joshua mirrors the laugh. "Seeing that he's not _up_ to it."

Neku raises his fist as Joshua approaches himself. "HEY WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO-?" He trails off in horror as other!Joshua leans in and kisses Joshua. What's even more horrifying is that Joshua's hand is fisting in other!Joshua's shirt and other!Joshua's sliding an arm around Joshua's waist and oh god what's happening what's happening here?

"Nngh..." Neku can't look away, even though he felt like he really should be covering his eyes right now. This is so very _wrong_. Even worse that other!Joshua is facing him and looking _right at him_.

He has to stop this. Right _NOW_.

Running up to the Joshuas, he roughly pushes them apart. "Just what the HELL are you doing?" he yells at the other!Joshua, subconsciously shoving Joshua behind him. "Don't tell me you were planning to do that to _me_." The smirk on other!Joshua's face makes him want to PUNCH HIM REALLY HARD.

"Jealous, are you?" Joshua says from behind him. Neku turns around to glare at the grinning kid. "You had your chance, Neku. Your loss; I'm really quite good."

Neku has no words to describe how as;dlfkjas;lkfjasd he's feeling, so settles for clutching his head and muttering, "This is all a dream this is all a dream this is all a dream..."

He's aware of muttering coming from a corner of the room and whirls around to see Shiki and Beat crouched there, heads low. "So Blue's _jealous_ of Pink making out with himself?"

"It looks like it Wow looks like Pink and Blue really _are_ like that!"

"GUYS IT'S NOT LIKE THAT OKAY?"


	5. Untitled

Author's Note: By reading this drabble, you will lose the game. Prompt from LJ - "But Neku, I thought you couldn't afford to lose?" Untitled because I couldn't think of something.

--

"But Neku, I thought you couldn't afford to lose?"

Joshua wants to echo the words he had spoken in the light of the flare before he shoots Neku - in the head, where all the boy's thoughts are - but he doesn't.

"You lied to me. Everything you said, they were all lies, weren't they?"

Joshua sips at his coffee, ignoring the accusing glare Neku is boring into his head from where he was standing, fists on the table, demanding answers. Joshua takes his time, though never let it be said he has been less than accommodating to Neku's needs. He sets his cup down on its saucer and leans back against his seat. "And here I am, thinking you had something _important_ to discuss with me."

He sees the boy's fist clench tighter, whites of his knuckles visible, a growl slipping through Neku's control. "This _is_ important, you ass!"

Joshua wants to finish his coffee, and gives it a longing glance, but Neku's simmering rage just two feet away from him says Neku will yank him forward by his shirt and _force_ him to answer. Or rather, Neku will spill his coffee on his shirt by doing so, and Joshua couldn't have that.

He sighs. "What if I told you I'd been lying to you all this time? What will you do then?

"So you _were_." Neku sounds convinced.

Joshua tilts his head to the side. "Listen to yourself. I never said I was."

"Just like how you never said you killed me?"

He just shrugs. He could say so many things in response to that. But he keeps them to himself, like how he keeps the rest of his thoughts from his Producer. Joshua finishes off his coffee and rises from his seat to leave with a taunting wave. He can feel Neku glaring daggers into his back. He can't resist one last jab, and turns, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Oh, by the way, Neku."

"What?" the boy grinds out through his teeth.

"Do you remember our little face-off? Oh," he laughs, and sees the expression on Neku's face tighten as he does so, "of course you do; I let you remember."

Joshua slides his hands into his pockets and steps outside.

"Congratulations, you won the Game."


	6. but time never stops

Author's Note: Two batches of prompts from LJ. Personally I like the 2nd batch more since it flows better. The lack of capitalisation is done on purpose.

--

i. diamonds

She had asked him what he thought about diamonds, and of course he had to answer, "They're a girl's best friend."

ii. sand through fingers

There weren't any beaches in Shibuya, though he could easily make one. But then it wouldn't be Shibuya anymore, so instead of feeling the sand between his fingers and toes like he remembers, he watches the sand slip through the the pinched waist of an hourglass.

iii. time

Time flies when you're having fun. Even with a rewind, time shifts, flows on.

iv. golden dragons

Dragon Couture is expensive and unecessary for the most part, but there's always something that draws him back. He spends more time examining the shop's ornamental design.

v. stopwatches

counted up rather than down.

--

a. white rabbit

it's a game of tag, more than anything, only she's never able to catch him. and he's never running, always walking, and always managing to keep her at a distance with ambiguous words. he's always busy, yet not, but she notes he doesn't have a pocket watch.

b. deck of playing cards

so they play a game, a different game, and not tin-pin, because she hears he's terrible at it. cards, but not poker, because _she's_ terrible at it, and she knows she can't win when he's played them for three weeks. she flips the deck and shuffles.

c. red backs

she deals, thirteen cards each, and places the remaining twenty six in a pile beside her. she starts to put down her card, three of diamonds, when he places his hand on hers, stop, put the cards away. he brings her to the backstreets of udagawa and she thinks she knows what comes next.

d. blood

there should be a bloodstain on the concrete, she realises, but there isn't. don't you see? he says to her, it never happened.

e. murder

but it did, she counters. you gave him back the memory, didn't you?

but could it be a fake memory? he returns.

but it happened! it happened...just not anymore.

he smiles.

but she shakes her head. it was still murder.


	7. Newspaper Clippings

Author's Notes: Yayyy headcanon dump! Also WHY IS FFNET SCREWING WITH MY FORMATTING SO MUCH Dx

--

Neku doesn't understand _why_ his mum even bothered keeping these old newspapers. Hell, he didn't even know she had been collecting them, year after year, all this time. All he knows is that his dad had finally convinced her to part with them, which meant _he_ had to clean all this junk out.

Taking a quick break, he idly leafs through the papers in his latest pile for taking out. And pauses at a full colour page in the fouth paper from the top.

He tears out the page and folds it for keeping.

--

"You know, you never told us how you died."

Joshua looks up from his coffee, heartbeat, and smiles. "What makes you think I died at all?"

But Neku has known Joshua long enough to expect that reply. Reaching into his pockets, he pulls out a coloured newspaper page, crumpled from weeks of carrying it in the hopes of catching Joshua without company. He can feel Joshua's neutral stare as he unfolds the page and lays it flat on the table, smoothing it out.

He points to a familiar grey-ish mop of hair. "This is you, isn't it?"

He watches Joshua's eyes scan the image, a wreckage of a train in the Underpass and a zoom in of one of the many bodies found. He watches Joshua lift his coffee cup and take a long sip, before setting it down again with a soft clunk. "And if it is?" he says, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile. "What difference does it make?"

Neku lifts his hand, palm up as he says quietly, "All of us know how we died." He doesn't know how to explain how and why that connection had allowed them to be closer together, even though they never speak of it. But the fact they had all _died _had been something that seperated them from Joshua, along with the other walls the other boy makes.

The silence stretches as he watches Joshua finish his coffee. "I was returning to Shibuya," Joshua explains.


	8. Speed of Gravity

Author's Notes: You may not be hearing so much from me drabble-wise for a while. This is mostly because of EXAMS and the twewy contest that is happening over at the twewy LJ comm.

--

He's standing on top of 104.

It's a tall building, but not the tallest he could have found. He could have alighted on the roof of another building or on the top of Pork City instead. After all, attention seekers do tend to favour high places. But here he is, on the roof of 104 with his feet half off the edge, standing on the precipice that separates standing from falling.

But he doesn't attract attention from the people below; he is invisible to their eyes.

Perfect.

He shifts his weight forwards, and soon he's falling at nine point eight metres per second.

In hindsight, he should have chosen a taller building. 104 only looks tall because it's narrow and thin. How our eyes play tricks on our minds. Or is it how our minds play tricks on our eyes? Eyes see the truth, but it's the mind twists it.

He almost considers lowering his vibe before he hits the ground.


	9. It's one ending they didn't want

Author's Notes: Unedited

--

"You three can't do this," he says flatly.  
"But... but we should be here! For Neku's sake."  
"Yeah man! It ain't right if we jus' walk away!"  
"He means a lot to us too, Joshua."  
He shakes his head. "This is for your sake, not his. He can't hear you anymore."

--

No one knew when the tumour had started growing in Neku's brain. By the time they had discovered it, it was too late. Surgeons couldn't remove it, and when they tried, they removed parts of his brain, but the tumour just came back. Even Joshua couldn't do anything; this was something outside the Game, outside his power.

They could only watch as operation after operation failed, and the Neku they knew and loved slipped away from them.

As they struggled, trying to make Neku's numbered days comfortable, Shibuya struggled with them, as if it was sharing their pain.

--

They protest some more, until he finally says, "Can you do it?" and holds out the gun, handle out.

Shiki and Rhyme falter, and Beat reaches out, almost a snatch, but even he doesn't take the gun. Joshua retracts his offer and says quietly, harshly, "You can't even take the gun. What makes you think you can witness this? The aftermath will be worse."

"But...!"

He loses patience with them all, and aims the gun at Shiki's head. "Leave! Now! I don't make idle threats. And don't try anything," he adds, switching his aim to Beat as he moves, "I'm a very good shot."

The silence between him and them stretches, before finally, finally, they turn, but not without agonised glances back. It's better for them, he tells himself, it will be harder for them to move on if they see this too.

It's only him and Neku in front of that familiar CAT mural. Only the mural isn't familiar to Neku anymore, not when his mind is so far gone that he can't do anything but sit there, staring blankly ahead.

Joshua presses the barrel of the gun against Neku's temple. It's an indication of how far Neku has slipped, because the spike-head doesn't flinch.

This isn't like the first time, even though they are at the same place, different time. This isn't like the first, because back then he was three feet from Neku and the gun was two. The first and last kills were personal and controlled.

This time, it's just personal.

He pulls the trigger, and closes his eyes against the spray of blood.

--

--

--

Joshua wants to gather all the pieces of Soul (the pieces of this beautiful, beautiful Soul) and keep them for himself. But he lets them return to the cycle, because his love (his selfish, selfish love) for Shibuya is greater than his love for Neku's Soul.


	10. Options

Author's Note: Ah, for the people interested, I've also been RPing Joshua in an AU LJ RP called The Sky Tides (the link is in my journal). I'd also love to see more players, especially castmates, so if you're interested, come join us!

--

Joshua always refuses to leave with them, always claiming he has business in Shibuya to attend to. They had joked that he must really love Shibuya, since he wouldn't even take a break from his 'job', and he had smiled, neither confirming nor denying. But Shiki had seen him, strangely lost in the crowds, when she had glanced back before their train to Shinjuku left.

--

Shiki's surprised he had turned up at all.

Shibuya's neon lightning plays across his face. The harsh colours only highlight the angles and hollows in his face normally unseen in the light of day. He looks like a ghost (a Player?), when his own colours - pale skin, ambiguous hair - blend instead of clash with Shibuya's lights.

Her meetings with Joshua are always exercises in silence. They walk leisurely, not together, but not separate either. Not partners, but not enemies either.

Shiki hasn't told Joshua where they're going, but he seems to know; he's not letting her lead him, even though he's following.

They draw near Shibuya Station and she stops, turning, her feet's lack of sound swallowed up in the district's night. Muted. Like so many of Joshua's secrets.

"Can you even leave Shibuya?"  
"I've never felt the need to."  
"Then come with me."

Joshua stands his ground. Shiki waits, but when it becomes clear that Joshua isn't going to move any time soon, she reaches out to grab his wrist and drag him towards the trains. But he sidesteps her, smiling as she turns, and Shiki's known him for long enough to know when he's smiling without feeling.

Their silence and distance stretches even as people move around them. Joshua makes to leave, to disappear again, but she blurts out on impulse. "Was that your entry fee?"

The grin on his face stretches. "You'll have to be clearer, Shi-"

"Did you give up your freedom as your entry fee?"

Joshua just shrugs, as if it meant nothing at all. "It comes with the title."

"It's not fair if you don't have a choice," she says immediately, and regrets it when he fixes her with a lazy stare. Unconsciously, she fidgets and steeples her fingers. Joshua's next words are weighted, even though he says them in a light voice accompanied by a childish giggle.

"There's always a choice. I chose this."

_I belong here._


	11. God lives underwater

Author's Notes: Wow it's been a while since the last update, especially given how much I used to update, huh? XD Been distracted by RPing (Joshua never fails to make me headdesk) and now that uni's started again I've got even less time. If there's any concepts or ideas you'd like to see me try to write, feel free to suggest them to me and I'll write them if I can 8D

Also, it's good to see ffnet _finally_ got a TWEWY section XDDD

--

God lives underwater

--

Minamimoto could almost taste victory, and he jumps down to stand in Shibuya's "river". His boots part the water for a moment, before they wash back over the top and past again; the sewer, the river, isn't much more than a shallow trickle through underground Shibuya, just a fraction of what it could be.

He wants to hear the rush of the river, he wants to hear the rush of Shibuya. He yells through his megaphone because he wants to be heard above all the other trash. Shibuya shifts, Shibuya changes, Shibuya is unbalanced, yet balanced. His art is made from unreliable materials, his art stretches to the sky, his art is precarious, yet still in equilibrium. He can draw a line in this water with the toe of his boot, and he does, and it quickly substitutes water to balance what he's changed.

Maths was like that, logical, balanced.

If he was going to rise to the top and add to his powers, he would need to subtract something from this side of the equation to balance it.

And he knew exactly who needed to be subtracted.


	12. beLIEve

Author's Notes: Title is a prompt from the 31 Days LJ community.

--

BeLIEve

--

Sanae walks through Shibuya River. Every step echos like a human, when invisible gliding accompanied by the flutter of wings was more befitting of an angel. But he chooses to walk like a human, though his mind is unhurried like an angel, despite the urgency of what could be Shibuya's final day of existence.

He passes Minamimoto, crushed under a vending machine and a car. Joshua had grown a slightly twisted fondness for vending machines when he had discovered how many people were killed by them each year. But Sanae's footsteps grow softer at the sight of it; he knows now that he failed Shibuya.

And that thought gives him more regret than his inability to rekindle the Composer's love for Shibuya.

He passes the CAT mural, the mural that grounds him in humanity in all its flaws and limitations, the mural that uplifts spirits to life and its freedoms. Sanae pauses for a moment to touch it, his smile faltering when he feels the mural's smooth paint that had roughened over years of neglegence. The mural is as much an echo of himself as a reflection of humanity's beauty.

And it's saddening that he wouldn't have the chance to repaint its dulling paint and give it the brightness it deserved, because Joshua didn't know how even though he tried to teach him.

He passes through the Dead God's Pad, built out of coloured glass, because Joshua always said other people see the world through coloured glass. Sanae thinks it's people who see the world through coloured glass, and that is what makes people different from angels.

Sanae glides through the doors to the Room of Reckoning, just in time, and sees Joshua, gun raised, and Neku, gun lowered, and wants to shut his eyes and pretend it wouldn't be over. But he doesn't, because he loves Shibuya and humanity too much to not see its end, and hears the gun's report and sees Joshua's smile and realises it's not the end.

Smiling, he steps forward and stands beside Joshua.

He had believed Joshua's lie, even though deep down, he knew the truth.


	13. she left on a Monday

Author's Notes: Prompts are from Bic Runga's song, She Left on a Monday.

--

i. she left on a monday

he brushes aside Sanae's concerns. he can't rest when Shibuya is crying and needs his help. but the more he doesn't listen to Sanae, the more she falls apart in his hands, crumbling under his touch.

ii. go to her, foolish man

he almost gives up. he almost stops trying. he almost thinks 'why me' when it's his own fault he's looking after her. but he hadn't won this game only to watch his Shibuya rot and stagnate and it keeps him from tipping over the edge and ending it all. still, he doesn't know what to do next. he doesn't know what he's doing wrong.

iii. what's the use of having pride if you can't have her

he closes his eyes and ears and remembers how she used to be. he seeks answers, wants the Players' help, wants the Reapers' help, wants the Producer's help, wants Shibuya's help, even though she stopped speaking to him (or was it because he stopped listening?). and he thinks, he WILL ask, though he makes sure they don't know he's asking, because humans mask the truth when questioned and angels speak of things he can only understand with experience. so he swallows his pride.

and plays the Game again.


	14. Silent Thank Yous

Author's Notes: Ugh ffnet messed with the original formatting. You can find it in its original formatting at my RP journal in my profile.

--

Silent Thank Yous

_The people of Japan enter and leave Shibuya, but He never does._

--

Rhyme doesn't know Joshua very well.

It used to only be a matter of coincidence when she met him, and even then, she never really talked to him; she only ever met him when she was with Beat, Neku and Shiki. But these days, she catches glimpses of him amongst the faces of Shibuya -- Beat can't watch over her ALL the time -- and wonders if she's subconsciously looking for him. With streets as packed as Shibuya's, picking a face from the crowd needs a focus she doesn't have.

The others know Joshua better. But... Neku doesn't like to talk about him. Shiki doesn't know how to talk about him. Beat doesn't talk to him.

It doesn't change the fact Joshua sits across from her in this cafe, but only on Tuesdays.

It must have looked very strange to onlookers who knew her. Growing older but not quite growing up yet meant being pushed into world ruled by the rumour mill. Rhyme doesn't have an interest in who is dating who, but that doesn't mean she is excluded from the gossip. And Beat is still too overprotective, though he has been getting better. Patience pays off in the long run, she thinks.

Aside from the cursory greetings and farewells, Rhyme doesn't talk to Joshua when he's here at the cafe. Words don't need to be spoken; the silence between them is golden.

--

It's not a case of her seeking Joshua out, Rhyme realises over a Friday cup of coffee. It's more a case of him seeking her.

--

"I don't see the others anymore," Joshua says one day, four months after this began, and Rhyme thinks she can detect a bit of jealousy mixed with sadness in his voice.

She apologises, "Sorry," as if that small word can mend the damage others cause. But she knows it offers little consolation; eventually she, too, will stop being a full-time Shibuyan.

Joshua smiles a little at that, and stands to leave, giving her a lazy wave of the hand. When he opens the door to the cafe, Rhyme can't help but notice there is no one on the other side of the door's glass window when he shuts it. She knows there's a good chance she'll never see him again.

There is a small pile of notes and coins on the table, enough for four months of coffee.


	15. I has a fan

Joshua bought a fan.

... It wasn't even a good fan.

It was one of those fans you could open and shut with a flick of the wrist, the thin, wooden slats making the most satisfying 'click click click' sounds every time he did. It was made from cheap wood -- pine, maybe. Joshua wasn't intimately familiar with wood types, and pine's distinct smell was masked by heady potpourri. It was cracked where a design had been cut out of the wooden slats in an attempt to make a cheap, four hundred and twenty yen product appear more beautiful and sophisticated than it actually was. Even the sunflower print stamped on the centre cut-outs in dark brown ink were faded in some places and too thick in others. And Joshua couldn't help but notice that the wood for one third of the fan's slats was rough and scaled, different from the rest, like the manufacturers ran out of wood halfway making the fan, and needed a new log. Even the metal pin holding the fan together at its base was loose and moved around easily under idle prodding. Joshua predicted the fan would break within seven days.

Still, the fan served his purposes well enough.

Joshua batted his eyelashes at Neku, hiding his smile behind the fan, fully aware Neku could still see it through the holes in the fan. He did it every time he was in Neku's presence and wanted to annoy the spike head. Which was almost all the time.

The fan _did_ break that week. Splinters of it were stuck in Neku's hand for another two.

"And the moral of the story is," Joshua said glibly, "Violence is never the answer."


	16. No one Lives forever

Joshua pulled the trigger. The bullet made a neat tunnel through his skull. But even that failed to make an impact on him; he jumped off the top of 104 the next day.

.

When he discovered this body of his was immortal -- "Call it a kickback for makin' it to Composer, J." -- Joshua filed that information in the back of his mind. The first death had been painful enough. His spine had arched like an inchworm's before every segment slipped out of its proper place in a series of clicks too fast for him to hear. The train had been quite unforgiving.

Joshua didn't know how long he'd be stuck as Composer. He only knew that he would be the Composer until the Angels said "No", and they hadn't said it yet. He had his Game with Neku, blinked once and discovered Neku had a family now, blinked again and saw an old man, blinked one more time and saw his grave. Joshua stopped listening to the news; he didn't want to know how long he'd been working this job. It was a kind of Hell, not knowing how long he had to live, not knowing how to live.

The essence of living was to die.

He learnt a cold blade stung more, belatedly.

Joshua was disappointed when his eyes opened. Nothing had changed. He was still Composer. Shibuya was still flawed. Apathy still ran strong.

.

Joshua took to dying like it was a hobby. Something to do in the brief, idle moments he snatched for himself. Poisons and its ilk weren't to Joshua's taste. Poison left a numbingly acidic aftertaste on his tongue, fouled up his ramen even after it was long gone. The scalds on the inside of his throat and the burbling unease of his stomach lingered even after his body revived itself. And it was bad form to meet with his Producer, green in the face. After the first two tests, Joshua never used them again.

He wasn't fond of asphyxiation either. Too slow and drawn out for his tastes. Oh, there was a certain thrill, a mindless rush that came from being deprived from oxygen, and other pleasures -- an observant person from the past had noticed hanged men died happy. Strangulation was slow and tantalising, an easy way to drive any person to the brink of many things. Sanity was often closest. Joshua needed his sanity intact.

No, Joshua preferred his deaths to be brutally physical. Messy where he chose to strike at himself, immaculately clean where he didn't. Every slash at himself, angled differently. Every shot to his head, bled from different locations. It was a sudden, morbid fascination, perhaps with the various ways the body reacted to having life forced out of it. An interest at how this immortal body managed to put itself back together -- not perfectly, it was never perfect -- despite the beatings Joshua ran it through. Or maybe just a strange obsession of squeezing some kind of pain out of dying, because he expected pain but received none. Only something that was short. Sharp. And gone.

...It bored him, eventually. Dying.

It had been more exciting than living, but shorter lived. He supposed dying got boring because nothing changed when he died. Death was supposed to change things. Death was supposed to be significant. His first death had significant.

Joshua took up smoking. He liked the smoke. He hated the smell. _But_, he thought, grinding the stub into ashtray and rising, _it was just another way of trying to die._


	17. you know that ghost is me

"You never change, do you?" Shiki says once, but had thought many times.

He says in response, "I never noticed."

--

She only starts noticing when she distracts herself from cleaning up her harddrive by going through her old fanfiction and photos. She can't help but smile when she sees those group photos from thirty years ago, when they all used to hang out together. Beat, Neku, Rhyme... those were fun times, but she can't keep the sliver of sadness from the back of her mind, that childish wish for all of them to still be together in Shibuya. They're all adults now, busy with their work and their lives; Japan doesn't give much time for its adults to think much further than the present.

Shiki clicks the arrow to view the next photo, and wonders if he's still in Shibuya.

--

The problem with Joshua is that whenever you want to find him, you never will. And, as Neku often used to say in frustration, "When you don't want to see that guy, _there he is_". Try as she might, though, Shiki can't pretend she didn't want to see Joshua -- she'd given up pretending long ago -- so whenever she scrounged time to walk on Cat Street looking for him (or Mr H), all she saw were strangers passing her by.

It's only when she's ready to give up five years later -- maybe he's not around any more, she thinks with a little sadness, maybe there's a new Composer now -- does she see him wave to her, just as she steps into the train and its doors close in front of her.

Typical.

--

It's a little frightening sitting across from him now. He looks exactly the same as Shiki remembers, thirty seven years after they first met, and the cards laid out in front of them really takes her back. He still has that smirk, he still hasn't lost that terrible bed head hairstyle. She loses the first three games as she struggles to remember how they used to play. But she wins the fourth, and smiles triumphantly at him; it's her first win against Joshua.

"I guess you still play like you're fifteen, too," she says, like she's gained experience over the years and he hasn't.

He laughs at his loss. "I guess that's the downside of staying this age. Maybe I should've died later."

And he still treats death like it's nothing.

--

"It must be hard for you," she says another forty years later, when she's old and people don't mind it when she's blunt, though she wouldn't care if they did. "It must be hard," she repeats, "because you lose people every day."

Joshua simply shrugs. "It's not difficult when I don't like them."

"But you liked _us_."

"I'm an impartial judge."

Shiki's known him long enough to know there's a hidden 'supposed to be' in that phrase. Age doesn't make her partial to playing his evasive game anymore, and she's always preferred being direct. "Don't be ridiculous."

He sighs, like dealing with an old Shiki is troublesome. "You said it yourself. I never change."

She waves a wrinkled finger at him. "You _did_ change."

He's playing her game now. "You're wrong."

--

There are plenty of flowers laid in Shiki's coffin. Another one was added after it was closed and buried.


	18. Headphones

When Shiki first sees Neku with earbud headphones, she thinks it's someone else even though his hair's the same. After the confusion is cleared up -- "How can you mistake me for someone else?" "You're not wearing your headphones, your normal ones, I mean. It's an easy mistake to make!" -- Neku takes one earbud out from his ear and holds it out. Shiki stares at him for a while, not comprehending why he's doing that, before he explains, "Want to listen?"

Her mouth makes a small 'o' of surprise (while she mentally berates herself for missing something so obvious) and Neku responds a little defensively, "What?"

She just giggles, bowing her head to hide her smile, "Nothing," and takes a step forward, turning, plucking the earbud from his fingers as she seats herself next to him.

Finally, she can hear the music he's always listening to. But when they have to move, "It's getting late," Shiki can't help but think she likes Neku's chunky headphones better; she prefers leaning against him as she tries to make sense of the muffled thumps she barely hears.


	19. There are a 1000 roads to walk

Joshua stands at the Station Underpass. He stands with the people of Shibuya, waiting for a train so they can go home, or go to Shinjuku for shopping, or various other needs the train allows them to attend to. Joshua doesn't have a reason to wait with these people. But he waits with them nevertheless. He understands the feeling of waiting, the disinterest in everything until the train arrives, the crawling feeling of axiety up the spine -- did I miss the train? Maybe I should have arrived earlier! -- the turn of the head in the direction of the train's arrival, just watching, just waiting. Joshua understood the feeling of waiting ever since he realised that being Composer wasn't the end.

A train pulls up and, like clockwork, all the waiting people spring to life and flow around him to push past the leaving people onto the train. Joshua always stands in the middle of it all, unmoving, neither taking a step forward onto the train that could take him away from Shibuya, nor taking a step back into the throng of people he would never leave while he was on the throne. He knows in his heart he will never abandon Shibuya. But he can't take a step back when he knows he wants to take that step forward, to see the other Undergrounds and see how the other Composers handle their Games. But he's never been quite brave enough to step onto a train's threshold after the first time. Joshua balances the line between staying and leaving until it disappears with the train.

It makes him feel a little better, pretending he can take a step forward when he knows he can't.

_Why?_ he had asked, petulant, childish, quite unlike how he was now, but the question still lingers.

_Mille viae ducunt homines per saecula Roman_, was the response, accompanied by a secret smile over a cup of coffee. _Don't worry about the other grounds, J. Just stick to this one, alright?_

* * *

Hearing the thoughts of the masses for the first time was... overwhelming, clashing, _revealing_. Joshua didn't read people's thoughts anymore; people were still people. Mortal. Ignorant. People couldn't answer his questions. Not even when he imprinted questions and scanned for their answers. He used to think the truth was there in the throng of minds, muddled by all the thoughts. But he knew the truth: he couldn't learn anything from the people when it's the Angels who've kept him here.

Joshua didn't know much about Beat. Didn't _need_ to know much about Beat. A simple boy with a simple mind. His thoughts would come out in forceful jumble of words that don't quite fit together, but there's some kind of underlying, simple logic to it. Joshua enjoyed asking Beat vaguely probing questions. Enjoyed comparing his response to the responses the others gave him. Beat may not have been particularly intelligent, but he had a certain amount of wisdom that was... not unique -- no one was truly unique -- but different from the others he knew. Still, Beat was, ultimately, _unfortunately_, a person.

Beat groaned at the long chain of cards laid out on the table. "Man, why you gotta do things the long way? Ya could've done th' same thing with these cards!" And he rearranged the cards to demonstrate his point.

Joshua chuckled, curling a hand loosely by the side of his face. "You know what they say, 'All roads lead to Rome'." He lowered his hand, remembering his old conversation with Sanae. "I'd like to go there some day, though."

"Then whatchu waitin' for? Hit the road, man!"

Joshua sighed. Rhyme really must have had her hands full with her less than intelligent brother. "It's a proverb," he explained slowly, as if he was speaking to a child. "It means there are many ways to reach the same goal." Joshua shrugged. "Why, even children know that saying!"

Either Beat had become used to his taunts and jibes, or he simply didn't realise Joshua had been mocking him. Beat scratched his head until Joshua practically saw the lightbulb slowly turn on in his head. "Ohhh, I get it! You just gotta pick one, right?"

_Pick one_.

And suddenly Joshua _understood_.

Joshua automatically nodded his head and smiled while he thought over that revelation. The silence didn't last long, however; he was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of Beat's loud voice. The boy wasn't like Shiki; Beat had no appreciation for quiet. "Oh yeah, forgot to ask ya. Where's Rome?"

Joshua laughed. "Where _is_ Rome, I wonder?"

He already knew the answer.

* * *

The next train pulls into the station, and once again Joshua balances the line between staying and leaving. The train's doors open, people pour in, people pour out. It won't be long before the doors shut again. _A thousand roads lead men forever to Rome._ Joshua constantly turns over those words Sanae had given him in moments like these. Now he thinks about what Beat had said, and calmly takes a step back.


	20. Time Stood Still

Author's Notes: AU. Sometimes I just have to accept that not everything I write will be good. This is one of the not-good stories. Also, please look at the original format over at community(dot)livejournal(dot)com/inktrain/22534(dot)html. FFnet strips all the formatting so it doesn't read as well.

* * *

i.

_A coffee mug falls from his hands and shatters._

Joshua ran.

Shibuya was deathly quiet. No people. No cars. No sound except the breathing that drove needles into his chest and his footfalls on pavement, heavy when he stumbled. The (many, many) lights flickered and the ever changing billboards were stilled, frozen. Unmoving and unchanging. It was late, and dark... _too dark_ for Shibuya, and Joshua wanted to figure out what was wrong, why Shibuya was empty like everyone had died, but he didn't have time. He was supposed to be home, hours ago, but the darkest night was starting to creep into his vision and Joshua ran from that as if he was being hunted. And like any scared prey, he believed home was safe.

(No, I... I don't believe you!) "I'm home!" It came out as a gasp, like an almost forgotten thought after Joshua wrenched open the door and tumbled in, expecting to be welcomed by home and comfort. But his call simply echoed before it was devoured by the silence. Even the night was seeping in here, where only the dimmest of lights were lit and all the other electronics turned off. Joshua heard voices, a familiar one and unfamiliar one, and the shadows moved. He whirled around. "Mother?"

But the shadows grew only longer and the voices kept talking, as if they couldn't hear him. (He... he could just be in a coma, right?) "Father?" Joshua moved to the next room, unease following his echoing footsteps. The lights flickered, and the air visibly _moved_. He didn't care that he was tracking dirt all over the floor. He wanted someone to notice all the dirt and search for the source, someone to yell and shout at him and to tell him to take off his shoes. "I'm here!" Someone, anyone, to realise he was there. "Where are you?"

(I'm sorry...) Joshua spotted a bright light, seeping in from under a door, beckoning to him with a kind of warmth, the reassurance of a lighthouse to the weary sailor. Cautiously turning towards it, Joshua pulled it open... and immediately threw up his arms to shield his eyes from the burst of light that banished the night, the familiar home, and the voices.

(... but your son was confirmed dead.)

* * *

ii.

_A coffee mug falls from his hands and shatters. He falls to the ground and collapses. He can't move his fingers. He can't move his arms. He can't move at all. He can't feel his lungs or a breath of air. He can't feel his heart or a rush of blood. He can feel a hand and it pulls him up and gently strokes his hair._

_He can't feel anything._

Joshua didn't have time to wait for the Scramble's lights to change. He swallowed his fear, closed his eyes, grabbed the hand of his partner and dragged her towards the cars and his partner's screams resonated with the screams he swallowed. He instinctively flinched when the cars passed him, passed _through_ him, and he felt something in his stomach turn, an ache in his chest, his throat closing up, even as both he and his partner tumbled into the 104 Building and collapsed from relief they'd cleared the mission with 4 seconds left.

He was dead he was dead he was dead and even if he won the Game he would still be dead. The night fell over Underground Shibuya, his partner's words fell on unlistening ears, and Joshua closed his eyes and fell through the world, because he realised the dead don't move like the living and he found himself alone in front of his home's door.

It was the fear that brought him here. The fear of seeing what was inside. The fear it would be the same as the first visit, empty of the familiar, overflowing in nothing. But he wants to see the inside, and he's there and his parents are arguing with grief filled words and the floor is littered with the broken remains of the things -- clay sculptures, model toys, plates of porcelain -- he'd painstakingly made with them. After every day that was overcome by night, Joshua returned home to watch his family slowly fall apart and could do nothing. The dead didn't move like the living. He wondered if the other Players hated this, too.

(He heard crying every night. It faded into whispers of an empty echo)

* * *

iii.

_Every seventh day, the taste of coffee burns on the way down his throat and turns into fear. The mug falls from his hands and shatters, spilling droplets of drink. He falls to the ground and cracks his head on the table before he collapses completely. He can't move his fingers. He can't move his arms. He can't move at all. He can't feel his lungs or a breath of air. He can't feel his heart or a rush of blood. He can feel a hand and it pulls him up and cradles his body and gently strokes his hair._

_He can't feel anything. He can see the open door to the café and a ball of fear forms in his chest. He can't enter it, but wishes he could._

Joshua saw the light. This was his reward. This was supposed to be the paradiso promised in the end. The Upper Plane waited for him. He stepped forwards, and the Upper Plane welcomed him.

But he looked back and saw Shibuya and the night and the face of his killer and couldn't take another step forward.

He took a step back. And another. And turned from the light.

"You have to let go. Do not be grounded by earthly things. Let go." Joshua could hear the call and it repeated in his ears, his mind, the air. "Let go. Let go. Let go. Let go." But all he could see was the face of his killer and the grief on his family's. Shibuya rained, and the lights slowly blinked out. Joshua walked away from the light into the darkest night.

With a thought, he was inside the café where the darkness was darkest and the old fear overwhelming. But the fear was dying in Joshua as his killer grew older and Joshua watched his killer with the same intensity his killer had. The dead couldn't change big things, but Joshua didn't need to change big things to cause little accidents.

The lights came back on. Joshua watched.

* * *

iv.

_Every seventh day, the taste of coffee burns on the way down his throat and turns into fear. The mug falls from his hands and shatters, spilling droplets of drink. He falls to the ground and cracks his head on the table before he collapses completely. He can't move his fingers. He can't move his arms. He can't move at all. He can't feel his lungs or a breath of air. He can't feel his heart or a rush of blood. He can feel a hand and it pulls him up and cradles his body and gently strokes his hair._

_He can't feel anything. He can see his room, untouched, and the grief surrounding it mixes with his. The hurt and the crying continues and he hates it. He can't leave, but wishes he could._


	21. One Day's Holiday

**Author's Notes:** Has some Joshua headcanon backstory based on a one shot I wrote, _No Dying Until the End_, though knowledge of that isn't required to read this story. Set pre-canon.

* * *

Joshua sees the features of Sanae's face tighten before he says in an oddly serious - concerned, protective, sad - voice, "What d'you hope to gain from doing that, J?"

Joshua turns and looks out the window, resting his chin against a hand while his other hand loosely curls around the coffee mug. Its contents have gone undrinkably cold in the time he's been sitting in the quaint coffee shop. He doesn't reply for a long while, and can hear the beginnings of questioning stirring in his Producer's throat. Murmuring, he pushes away his coffee and cuts Sanae off.

"I want to know if my life meant anything."

* * *

He knows he shouldn't be concerned. He knows he shouldn't care. He knows it shouldn't matter to him. But Joshua can't stop thinking about his own funeral.

Sanae tries to stop him. Not with words - those are full of faint encouragement - but with a sombre look and mechanical movements that silently plead with Joshua, _don't do this J you'll only hurt yourself_. But Joshua is persistent and fixates on it, even though he already knows nothing good can come out of it.

Joshua leans back, aware of the dull vibrations of the train against the back of his head. The last time he was on a train, he died. He tries not to think about it too much, his death, even though it is probably the greatest boon he's received - aside from becoming Composer, that is. Instead, he turns his gaze upwards to the windows and the scenery zooming by. Away from Shibuya, Joshua doesn't have many of the powers he's quickly grown used to. He can't even slip into the UG where he would be unseen, unheard. He can still scan the people on the train, though, and does so as he closes his eyes - scanning is so second nature now he _can't_ not do it - and finds their dreary thoughts a white noise that lulls him into a listless rest.

As the train speeds through the other cities and districts, Joshua can feel faint tendrils of curiosity from their respective Composers at his presence in their domain. Not feeling particularly chatty, he shuns them all. Thankfully, they don't bother him, and the train takes Joshua out of their reach soon enough.

* * *

When time rewinds, Joshua gives the Angels something close to a grateful smile, even as they warn him _only for one day_, their words tempered with Sanae's, "Think of it as a day's holiday, J," even if his Producer still doesn't fully approve of all this.

An hour before the funeral starts, Joshua considers turning and leaving and wasting all the trouble it took to set this up.

He doesn't.

But he regrets it the moment the funeral begins; it plays out exactly as he imagined it would. When his father steps up to the podium and opens his mouth, Joshua knows this funeral isn't about the loss of a son, nor is it a celebration of his life. This funeral is about how a family can take advantage of a death.

Joshua's only satisfaction comes from the lack of sympathy from his father's audience, but even that schadenfreude isn't enough to stop the bitter twist of his stomach. The only tears shed during this funeral are from crocodiles. That family at the front is more concerned with keeping their kids in line. That school kid in the back doesn't want to be here, and only came because they'd look bad otherwise. A few think _good riddance_ and a few others have no idea who this "Joshua" is. That one over there in the middle row has a head full of what they plan to do to their partner after the funeral is over. His own mother is considering a replacement for him already, though only after an appropriate time of 'grieving', lest the other families think she just wants a replacement to carry on the Kiryu name.

There isn't a single person in attendence who gives a damn, and the only person who would have doesn't remember Joshua at all.

* * *

When he returns to Shibuya, Joshua allows Sanae to place a sympathetic hand on his shoulder before shrugging him off. His Producer wisely doesn't ask him how the funeral had gone, doesn't even have his _I told you so_ look. But when New Year draws near, Sanae suggests taking a day's holiday to Joshua. Joshua just gives him a dark look - a look that's just a little accusing, _why didn't you stop me?_ - and returns to his work, his response terse.

"Composers don't get holidays."


	22. September 2005

**Author's Note:** Just so you know, most of my newer one-shots have their own individual stories, rather than being uploaded here. From now on, only shorter works (things that are under approx. 1.5k words) will be updated here.

* * *

There was a new poster on the 104 building.

Joshua eyed it warily from one of the sidewalks at the scramble. It was huge, but that wasn't surprising. No, it was just a poster advertising the 'coming soon' release of a certain animated movie. It was hard for him to mistake it for anything else; that ridiculously spiky blonde hair was impossible to miss.

"It's a real work of art, you know."

At some point, Sanae arrived. No real greeting. The only time he did was when Joshua stopped by the WildKat (even when there were no other customers) and that was more a shopkeeper greeting a customer. Ridiculous. He thought Sanae took being human a little too seriously. Probably took it more seriously than _Joshua _did, really.

Nevertheless, Joshua deigned to give Sanae a response, despite not being particularly interested in hearing yet another one of Sanae's yawn inducing _art_ talks. However, he was curious about Sanae's opinion of the upcoming _Final Fantasy VII Advent Children _movie. "What makes you say that?"

The barista gave him a hearty chuckle before handing over a warm cup of coffee. Joshua took it from him, secretly grateful for the coffee in this cooling weather, but immediately disappointed when he tasted the unremarkable flavour of instant coffee. "Sorry, J," Sanae said, not sounding sorry at all, "Meetings with the higher ups don't leave a lot of time to clean coffee pots, y'know." Before Joshua could point out that Sanae could be cleaning them _now_ so he could brew him some actually decent coffee, the barista went on to answer the earlier question. "It's a real wonder in computer graphics. Looks real enough, but not _too _real."

"But that's not what makes it _art_," Joshua commented. CAT wasn't famous for having a _realistic _style, after all.

Sanae gave a short bark of laughter that was quickly swallowed up in Shibuya's noisy throng of people. "Nope; it's about the three I's."

"Imprinting, inspiration, imagination," Joshua said dully, taking a sip of the terrible, but blissfully warm, coffee. He'd heard all this before.

Joshua was met with a look of mock surprise. "Oh good, you _have _been paying attention. Didn't know you cared."

Joshua successfully resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn't hard to remember them when the three I's were so closely connected to the UG. But instead, he said, "You pick up a few things when you hear it a hundred times."

"Huh. I guess I never noticed." The barista broke out into a grin. "How about a li'l test, J? How do they apply to art?"

Joshua eyed his coffee cup, trying to decide whether he wanted to put up with such a bad brew for some warmth, or to toss the damn thing already. "I suppose they'd be the same as it is in the UG," he replied, staring at the coffee's lid like it held all the answers to improving Shibuya. Oh, he'd keep the coffee a little longer; he didn't have to _drink _it to enjoy the warmth it spread through his hands. "The movie imprints a message on the viewers, who interpret the message, and if it clicks with them, become inspired."

"You forgot what happens to their Imagination, J. Some of those who become inspired will use that inspiration to imagine new works of art, which will go on to imprint and inspire others."

Joshua made an irritated face. "I was about to get to that." Not drinking the coffee meant he wouldn't feel warm _inside_, though. This conundrum was all Sanae's fault. Probably even did it on purpose. "I hardly think thousands more _imaginative _creations where characters spend more time out of their clothes than in them is what Shibuya needs. This movie is just pandering to the fanbase."

"So you're saying you only want creations you think are 'good'?" Sanae's inflection on good made it clear he didn't quite approve of this line of thinking.

"A plethora of terrible works will only bury the good ones and encourage the taint to spread." His coffee cup was still half filled with terrible, terrible coffee. "No, calling those thoughtless creations _art _is really quite the insult."

"Where do you think art comes from, J? For most people, it doesn't just happen. Art grows from muddied waters. You take it away, you don't have art. People don't make art like Hokusai when they're born, yanno." Sanae's eyes gleamed behind his shades. Joshua knew that look. It was the look the artist had whenever he started to get _passionate_ about his craft. "Everyone has an Imagination. Don't you think it's better if they used it instead of allowing their mind to stagnate? Don't you want to see an _inspired _Shibuya?"

Joshua decided it would be best to nip this conversation in the half-bloom. Not answering his Producer, he strode over to the nearest bin and dumped the coffee in it.

He could hear Sanae give a huff of a disappointed sigh before asking, "So, you gonna see the movie?"

Joshua gave the barista a wave without turning to look back as he headed off in the direction of a little shop where he could get a _real _drink for this weather. "I'll think about it."

* * *

**Author's Note:** One of my less thought out stories, set pre-Game. The truth is, Joshua is a secret FF7 fan (is this why crossdressing is possible in TWEWY?) and there are some parallels between the Lifestream and the UG, but I couldn't figure a way to work it into the story without it getting all disjointed. There're a lot of things I didn't end up doing, actually.

This idea was spawned on the 1st of May, completed on the 7th of July (I write so slowly!). Thank you for reading!


	23. Cell Phone

Joshua received his first cell phone on his tenth birthday. He accepted his gift with the fake graciousness he'd learned over the years; he knew the cell was less about giving him a present and more about his parents' desire to keep up appearances.

What's worse, he thought as he idly thumbed through the menus, was that there was no one he wanted on his contacts list.

Well, maybe that wasn't entirely accurate.

"Hey, kiddo! What brings you here today?"

Joshua glanced up from the cell phone in his hand to where the barista was leaning against the counter, a cleaning cloth in his hand. It took Joshua a long moment before he responded; it seemed like such a stupid reason to come to the WildKat. Forget it. He'd just satisfy his other curiosity instead. Tossing his cell phone over to Mr. Hanekoma - he didn't really care whether the older man dropped it or not - he said, "This design is yours, isn't it? CAT."

Mr. Hanekoma caught the cell phone easily in one hand before he glanced down at it and laughed, a hearty guffaw. "Can't put anything past you, can I, J?" He took on a more serious look, though, and added, "But that's not why you came here, is it?"

Joshua huffed and folded his arms, looking away. "You've a cell, right?" He couldn't quite bring himself to ask, '_Can I have your number_?' and just let the unasked question dangle between them for a long moment.

He yelped when his cell phone nearly struck him in the face, and ended up fumbling the thing until it clattered onto the WildKat's floor. As he knelt to pick it back up, Mr. Hanekoma said, "I think you should take better care of that cell, J. You're the only one in Shibuya with a direct line to CAT, now!" and laughed long and loud like the whole thing was some private joke at Joshua's expense.

Just for that, Joshua sent his first text message to Mr. Hanekoma at 4 AM.

* * *

It'd been so long since anyone from his class talked to him of their own volition that he could only stare, slackjawed, at the new girl. Haruka, on the other hand, put a finger to her chin in thought and asked, unsure, "Did I say something wrong?"

Joshua thought for a moment, before he shook his head. "It's not every day someone asks me for my number." More like, never. "You've only known me for-" Joshua checked the time on his cell phone, "- forty minutes, after all."

She smiled and flipped open her phone, thumb ghosting over the buttons before handed her cell phone over to him. "Go on," she encouraged, when he didn't take the phone, "Friends should share numbers, so they can share even when they're not physically next to each other."

Friend. That wasn't a word he'd heard associated with himself. He was tempted to just brush off her offer - she'd undoubtedly be taken in with the rest of the giggling gaggle in the school and forget about him - but he found he couldn't quite shake off that tantalising promise of having someone else to talk to. Silently, he took her cell phone and hesitated over the unfamiliar feel of her cell's keys before entering in his number, handing her phone back when he was done.

"Now," Haruka said cheerfully, holding out a hand, "give me your phone."

That night, he received a text message, "4-6-4-9," and couldn't help but smile.

He wasn't disappointed; from the day on, Haruka's name was a constant alongside Mr. Hanekoma on his contact list. Frustrating nights at home were made all the more bearable with the ability to text to someone his age under the cover of his blankets when he was supposed to be asleep. Even when he was forced to leave Shibuya - no thanks to his parents - they kept in touch through long voice calls over Saturday nights that stretched until Sunday dawn.

But then he ran away from home, intending to come back to Shibuya, only to die.

When he found out Haruka didn't remember him anymore - his entry fee… his _real_ entry fee he forfeited when he chose not to play the Game by the rules - Joshua gripped his cell phone so tightly he could feel the plastic and metal shift under his hand. Bitterly, he deleted names until there was only one person left on his contact list.

He had no reason to come back to the RG now.

* * *

"I seem to have misjudged you. For that, I apologise."

Joshua waved away the apology with a hand, shoving the other one deep into the pocket of his Reaper hoodie. "Please, you're making me blush, Megs." His tone was light and easy, on the other hand. "You were my dear, dear partner."

The older man smirked, eyes hard to make out from behind his dark shades. "You still are."

At that, Joshua turned away, unsure of how he felt about that. Megumi hadn't liked him at first, despite being partners, so this buddy-buddy attitude made him off balance.

"What is your number?" Joshua's internal question of '_why_' must have been quite obvious; Megumi clarified, "If I hear anything, you'll be the first to know."

He can't help but quip back, "My, my, I get to be first in the queue? I'm flattered," but exchanged numbers with Megumi anyway, giving the Harrier a small wave as he left.

Talking to Megumi wasn't the same as talking to Haruka - his gut twisted a little, whenever he thought of that name - but there was a different kind of companionship to their conversations over the phone. As time went on, he grew to appreciate it. And, Joshua had to admit, it was nice having someone he could trust to have his back.

But when he became Composer and saw the lack of recognition behind Megumi's shades, Joshua excused himself from the Room of Reckoning and disappeared to the roof of Pork City. There, he could see everyone and feel the thoughts of the entire city flow through and out of him. With a frustrated scream, he lobbed his cell phone as far as he could throw it.

* * *

Joshua bought a new phone. A rather plain thing in orange, compared to his old one. He wasn't entirely sure why he bought it, when there was only one number he would put on there. And why would he even need it, when he could drop by the WildKat whenever he wanted, now?

But, he supposed, that wasn't quite true. Joshua's thumb hovered over the buttons, hesitating, before he finally pushed one.

He raised his cell phone to his ear and…

… waited for the dial tone and…

… waited for the phone to be picked up…

Joshua closed his eyes when he heard Neku's annoyed and confused demand to know who was calling him in the middle of the night, and quietly thought, _I can't do this again_, and abruptly pushed another button. Flipping shut his phone, he closed his eyes against the words that had gloomily blinked at him from the darkness.

Call Ended.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** 4-6-4-9 is another way of saying yoroshiku, which has a pretty wide nuance in meaning, but basically means "pleased to meet you" in this case. Admittedly, this is one of my lazier pieces, and is based off one of my earlier one-shots, _No Dying Until the End_.


End file.
